The Dreamland Tree
by milominderbinder
Summary: When seventeen year old Santana Lopez reluctantly befriended Blaine Anderson, she never thought it would lead to this: eight years later, offering to forgo a main perk of lesbianism and knock herself up just so him and his boyfriend can start a family.
1. Tminus one month to Knocked Up

** A/N: This is just a short intro into my new Klainetana verse, the next chapter should be a lot longer if I decide to continue. I just got hit by this idea last night, so I'd love any feedback. Enjoy! **

Kurt and Blaine are twenty five when they announce their plans to start a family.

Well, to be fair, Kurt is less than a week away from turning twenty six, and they don't so much announce it as Blaine whispers it excitedly down the phone whilst Kurt is safely occupied for a few minutes in another room. He says that he has Kurt's permission to tell her, but she's dubious about that. More likely Kurt had sarcastically muttered about Blaine not being able to go five minutes without blabbering, and he'd misinterpreted it as permission.

Santana knocks her head against the wall when he tells her. She's ducked out of the restaurant in the middle of a romantic dinner with Britt, and now she's stood on the street and cocooned in a little crowd of smokers, which is really doing nothing for the whole 'quitting' thing she swears she's trying. She just wants to go inside and finish her far too expensive but also sinfully delicious spaghetti, order some chocolate mousse to go, crawl back to their little flat, and see if she can beat her high score for orgasms achieved in one night. She curses herself, not for the first time, for somehow obtaining such a puppy-like best friend, who sees as much use for holding in information as he does for wearing socks. That is to say, none whatsoever. It's all indirectly Brittany's fault, but that kind of thinking isn't the kind of thinking that's going to get her spectacularly laid that night, so she blames herself for a few seconds and then pushes it to the back of her mind.

"Congrats, Blainers," she drawls, definitely not elongating the word to mask the fact that she's leaning in to a cloud of second hand smoke and trying to coat her lungs in it through force of will alone. "Here's to hoping the sprog takes after Hummel. Was there anything else?"

He manages to natter on for a few more minutes before she can make him hang up. She's vaguely happy for them, but kids are kind of completely not her thing. She uses years of practise living in an emotionally-stunted family to forget the conversation ever happened, and then goes back inside and fucks Brittany in a bathroom stall to celebrate lesbianism and the fact that there's no way in hell she can get knocked up.

She later finds that viscously ironic in a way that would be rather satisfying if it had happened to anyone else.

The next day she wakes groggily in her bed with a clump of soft blonde hair in her mouth. The covers are on the floor, she's candidly and one hundred percent naked, and Britt's limbs are clammy and goosebumped, tangled and wrapped around her in various awkward ways so that there's no possible way she can extract herself from them. Sadly, this isn't an unusual occurrence. Brittany sleep dances. It's gotten to the point where Santana has added 'never having a decent nights sleep again for the rest of my life' into the secret and ever-growing pro/con list she has hidden on her computer to decide if she should propose.

Santana finds her way out eventually, though it involves bribing an octopus-like Brittany with waffles when she wakes up and decides to go for morning sex without consulting Santana. Normally San isn't one to turn down an orgasm at any time of the night or day, but right then her limbs are kind of completely aching and the lack of coffee in her system is fighting with nicotine withdrawal to make sure she is what's known as i entirely miserable./i

She pads into the living room without bothering to put any clothes on, and tries in vain to kick their ancient heating system into working order. It gives a few long, loud creaks which suggest it's doing something, so she decides she's satisfied Brittany isn't going to freeze to death on that particular morning, and precedes to the kitchen. Once she's had two cups of strong black coffee and hand fed Britt a toaster waffle, she climbs back into their bed and gives herself her first orgasm of the day.

She drinks another cup of coffee, kisses Britt out the door and towards a stupid rehearsal she doesn't need. She sets the shower spray as hot as it will go with a naive amount of hope, and then stands under the glacial water it churns out, shivering angrily and wondering if she'll have to blow the landlord to get him to fix their bloody heat already. He's old and gross, but if Britt gives her permission then by this stage she thinks she'll totally do it. They've lived here for a year and they've got no plans to leave any time soon.

It's not until she reaches down for her razor and spots Britt's stupid towel in the corner that she remembers her conversation with Blaine the night before. It's a more logical jump than it sounds; the towel is from Disneyland, and features the cast of Britt's favourite film, which happens to be 101 Dalmations. Santana challenges anyone on the plant to look at that many puppies in one go without thinking of Blaine Anderson. Bloody hell, she thinks as she soaps herself up. Blainers is having a baby.

She uses the towel to dry herself off, and thinks about Kurt and Blaine for a while. Her hobbit-esque best friend has been pathetically in love with Hummel since he was barely sixteen years old. They'd moved in together the second Blaine arrived in New York, though Santana imagines having Berry eternally belting out heartbroken ballads in the next room discouraged them from diving into a particularly wild sex life at that stage. But then they'd gotten married fresh out of University in some small but still ostentatious ceremony that she's sure Blaine had absolutely no say in, and Rachel had found another roomate to torment with her endless drama, so they'd turned her room into some pathetic imitation of a study that Santana likes to loudly tell everyone is actually just code for 'secret sex dungeon' just to see them blush a shade that matches her lipstick. She guesses that room will be redesigned into a nursery, now. She has absolutely no problem picturing Kurt marching Blaine around parenting stores with a carefully marked colour wheel in one hand and a foot-long list of obscure 'necessities' in the other. He's probably already customised an Alexander McQueen scarf into a babygro.

She kind of wants to scream at them not to do it, but at the same time it's really perfect. They'll be great parents, without a doubt. Kurt'll organise everything and make sure everyone always has gourmet food and cutting edge clothes and everything else he's convinced they need, and Blaine will bounce around being puppy-like and eternally amusing, like a toy that never wears out and eventually the most embarrassing dad on the planet.

Her schedule is a gaping hole of bitter unemployment that day, so she dresses herself in something inappropriate and shells out for a cab to Kurt and Blaine's apartment.

"Hey Hogwarts," she says by way of greeting, letting herself in with the key they constantly regret giving her. "Hands where I can see them."

Blaine is stretched out on the sofa his pyjamas, wearing his goofy glasses and intently studying some pieces of paper she assumes are for work. His face lights up when he sees her, like he's genuinely surprised she's there. Hummel is nowhere to be seen, so she gives up on interrupting anything dirty that day. It's her eternal quest to catch them in the throes of sodomy, just once, so she has sufficient blackmail material for the rest of her life. Like a pension on her friendship; to make sure she always has something to fall back on.

"Hey Santana," Blaine says warmly, and he shifts over so she can collapse onto the sofa next to him. She's about to launch an attempt to steal his mug of coffee when Hummel marches in from the bedroom, perfectly dressed in some too-fancy suit and Doc Martens.

"Hey Kurt," she greets him with a smirk. He wisely seems unsurprised to see her there. She's a permanent fixture in both their lives and apartment by now, no matter how much he dislikes it.

"Blainers knock you up yet?"

He gives her a slightly strange look.

"You do know that's not biologically possible, right?"

Oh. Of course. In her defence, she'd been on her third glass of wine when Blaine had called and told her the night before, so she hadn't really been thinking at her sharpest. Besides, Hummel is so freaking girly she sometimes forgets he's sporting a pair of testicles inside those skin tight trousers. She still feels like a bit of a moron now that he mentions it, but they don't have to know that.

"Whatever," she replies, feigning indifference. Kurt rolls his eyes and grabs his bag from beside the sofa, leaning down a bit further to press a kiss to Blaine's forehead."Okay, honey, I'll be back by five," he says, and then shoots a glare in Santana's direction. "Satan."

"Mom," she acknowledges. He rolls his eyes and marches out of the door.

"Don't let her in the liquor cabinet, Blaine!" comes the echo of his voice, and then the door shuts.

"Love you!" Blaine calls to the door, before turning to Santana with a characteristically sugar-sweet smile.

"So are you guys adopting some Tibetan war orphan or what?"

She's not sure if there's been a war in Tibet recently, or indeed ever, but it seems like the kind of thing Blaine would do, in his completely innocent I-want-to-help-everyone kind of way. She's surprised when he shakes his head.

"We talked about it, and we might adopt in a few years, but for our first child we want someone who's properly ours, y'know? So it really feels like starting our own family, just like a regular couple."

If she was a little bit nicer, she'd chime in then with some speech about how they were a regular couple, they had the same rights as anyone else, being gay made no difference to their love, yada yada yada. If she was a little bit meaner, she would point out that with Hummel constantly on the edge of a spontaneous sex change and Blaine's unhealthy obsession for bow ties and giving horrible advice, they'll never in their dreams be regular. The Santana of high school, the one Blaine had originally befriended, might have pointed that out. But she's making a thing out of trying to be nicer these days, mostly for Brittany, so she keeps her mouth shut on both counts.

"- so we're going to start looking for a surrogate!" Blaine finishes, giving her the most hilariously dopey smile she's ever had the misfortune of seeing. Her heart sinks as her mouth opens without consulting her brain, and she realises what she's about to say a half second before it slips out. Damn it.

Stop looking," she says, with a sigh of resignation so deep the apartment nearly shakes. "I'm doing it."


	2. Negotiation

**Sorry it's so late, I changed my original ideas for what I wanted this to be quite a lot and had to make a lot of edits. Hope you like it!**

** Also, To the anon reviewer of the last chapter: I actually haven't read the fic you mentioned, though I did look it up afterwards - I'm sure it's a great fic but I don't read supernatural stuff so I haven't come across it. I assure you all this is entirely my own work - the clump of hair section was based on my real life experience of having a girlfriend who is a restless sleeper. Sorry you felt that those details ruined the fic for you, but I'm above plagiarism.**

That night she sits down and spends an hour explaining to Britt that Kurt and Blaine are going to be borrowing her stomach for the next nine months in order to have a baby without consulting a stork. She makes a point of mentioning how nice and kind and amazing it is of her to do it. She figures the least this can earn her is some reward sex, and Britt loves it when she plays nice. They drink a bottle of wine in celebration (Brittany is celebrating the baby. Santana is celebrating the fact that Brittany seems to understand everything she was just told, and not one confusing association had sprung up in their conversation) and build a sheet fort in their living room so they can pretend to be having sex in a tent. She's promised Britt that someday, the two of them will go camping together. It's difficult to believe they never have, but for some reason holidays are the one part of their lives that never quite synched up. If she proposes, they'll have a honeymoon together as their first holiday. (In her head, she adds that to the pros.)

The next morning, she's rudely awoken by Lady Gaga blaring on her phone. Light is peeping through the windows but Britt is still fast asleep. They're still in their fort, sprawled stark naked on the floor boards. Brittany is using Santana's thigh as a pillow. It's vastly uncomfortable but she doesn't care. Sometimes she wonders what it'll be like when they're older, when they won't be able to crash out anywhere they please after hours of marathon sex, because their bodies will ache for days afterwards. That sounds like a pretty horrible existence, to her.

The phone is still ringing. She gropes for it in the pocket of the jeans she had hastily discarded the night before. The caller ID is flashing at her - PORCELAIN. She's not in the habit of borrowing Sue's nicknames but in Hummel's case it's too perfect to resist.

More importantly, why the fuck is Hummel calling her at such an indecent time?

She answers the phone with her eyes closed and sighs.

"Kurt," she says. Her voice is the rough hungover kind that takes a few minutes to settle into.

"Santana," he replies. He sounds cautious, and he isn't calling her Satan, so she figures she's done something to throw him off base a bit. Then she remembers the night before. Talking to Blaine. Offering her body as a ritual sacrifice for their happiness. All that jazz. She's surprised to find that she hasn't changed her mind overnight. It still seems like a terrible idea, but it's a terrible idea she wants to be a part of.

"What's up?" she enquires. She's too tired to be snarky. She'll think of a suitable insult in a minute, when her head's less foggy. As long as he's playing nice as well.

"I talked to Blaine."

There's a pause while he seems to wait for her to say something. She doesn't know what it is, so she keeps silent and wait for him to continue.

"He said that you'd offered to do the surrogacy for us?"

"Yep," she drawls, dragging herself to her hands and knees and figuring she should go and get some coffee, to see if it'll stop the gross pounding in her head.

"Oh."

His voice is, like, genuinely shocked, which she should probably be insulted by except she doesn't have the energy.

"You really did, then?"

"Yep, and you don't have to sound so surprised. Blainers is my best friend. You're sort of okay. And Britt's gonna be gone for the next seven months so I kind of need a distraction anyway."

She can almost hear the cogs turning in his head, all possibilities sorting themselves out and reaching exactly the same conclusion: Does Not Compute. Still, he must know not to look a gifthorse in the gob or whatever, because he doesn't question it again.

"Thank you," he says. It's kind of soft sounding and she suspects if she doesn't do something pretty soon, this conversation is going to get all kinds of mushy.

"Yeah, well, I'm hot and all kinds of smart. What better genes could your sprog ask for, right?"

He gives a sort of wry laugh, but doesn't bounce back with a cutting insult of his own. Maybe he's afraid she's going to change her mind if he riles her up.

"Do you want to come over later and talk about some of the details? You can bring Britt."

She's glad he offers, because Britt's gonna be gone in a month and she kind of wants to soak up all the time they can have together before then. Which, yes, includes marathon sex every time they're alone, but also kind of just sitting together and holding hands while they chat and enjoying her job as Britt-to-human translator whenever they hang out with their friends.

"Sure," she says amicably, glancing over her shoulder to gaze at Brittany's sleeping body, still tangled up in their sheets. As she watches Britt suddenly flings an arm out, no doubt acting some bizarre dream, and the whole fort collapses on top of her. She doesn't even stir. Santana wants to laugh, but in the end it's just too adorable. She wakes Britt up with a cup of hot chocolate (she's never liked coffee, though it's Santana's main source of sustenance) and walks her to her rehearsal.

That evening, they arrive at Kurt and Blaine's to the smell of freshly baked cookies. Brittany squeals excitedly and bounces into the kitchen to help Kurt, who from what Santanas glimpses through the doorway is preparing some kind of dessert-centred feast, presumably for a major league football team judging by the amount of food. Blaine is attempting to help but stops when he sees her, and they head into the living room together.

"Let our girls do the cooking," she says with a smirk, propping her feet up on his lap. He frowns at her slightly but doesn't try and defend Kurt, which in itself is unusual.

"I want you to know," he says instead, "how totally awesome it is that you offered to do this. It really means a lot to us."

"Duh, or why would I be doing it," she replies. He seems to consider this a good point because he shuts up. She genuinely can't handle all this mush. They chat idly about Santana's job hunt for a minute, until Kurt and Brittany emerge from the kitchen wielding plates full of food. Britt bounds over to proudly show Santana the cookies.

"Kurt let me ice them," she announces. "It was awesome."

Every cookie on the plate is decorated with a wobbly red heart around a small S. It's sort of adorable. Kurt feeds Blaine a small piece of cake, and then all of a sudden Brittany's pouting.

"You never bake for me," she points out to Santana.

San mentally updates the list of things to do in Britt's absence from 'get a job, have a baby', to 'get a job, have a baby, buy a cookbook'.

"So, what exactly is the plan here?" she asks, once Kurt and Blaine have settled on the loveseat across from her. She knows they've probably been planning to make awkward conversation for at least half an hour while being uncharacteristically nice to her and never acknowledging the reason she's there, but she's not sure she can stomach that. "One of you jerks off into a turkey baster and I just go to town, or is it a bit more complicated than that?"

Blaine blushes slightly, but Kurt doesn't even look surprised at her crassness anymore. He just rolls his eyes and offers her another cookie.

"We were thinking we'd do the 'Mr and Mr Berry' trick," he says. "Y'know, so we never know who the genetic father is?"

She nods. She'd met Rachel's dads just the once, back in Lima, at their high school graduation. Somehow she, Britt, Kurt and Blaine had ended up sitting with them in some hilarious 'queer corner' at the New Directions family celebration afterwards. They'd been fantastically obnoxious - it had certainly explained a lot about Rachel, that was for sure. She still finds it kind of hilarious that they claim not to know who fathered the Glee Club's resident starlet - as if the Jewish nose and relatively Caucasian skin didn't give it away. But Kurt and Blaine aren't dramatically different in colouring, and if they're borrowing her genes then it's not like the baby's going to inherit Kurt's porcelain skin anyway. There aren't any obvious flaws in the plan.

"Okay, cool. So when are we pulling the trigger?"

Brittany is sat cross legged on the sofa next to her, making two gingerbread men make out and not paying any attention to the life changing conversation happening around her. Kurt and Blaine exchange a look and have one of those stupid silent conversations that make her want to vomit with the soppiness of it all. They turn back to her before she can comment on it, though.

"Well, sometimes it can take a few attempts to conceive, so we thought we should start trying as soon as possible. In case it takes years or something."

That kind of boggles Santana's mind. She hasn't really considered the fact that there's no guarantee it will work. She'd built up a picture in her head of her and Britt having one session with the turkey baster, and then three weeks later a little pink strip on a pregnancy test, and the whole thing would be over by New Year's. But it's more likely it'll be months before one of their tadpoles even sticks. That makes the whole situation significantly more awkward. Is it stupid to go job hunting when she's trying to get pregnant, for example? Because she'll just be taking maternity leave a couple of months in anyway. And if Britt leaves on tour before she's knocked up, will Santana have to wait until she gets back to try again? She doesn't exactly want anyone else fiddling down in her nether regions, and it seems like it'd be a pretty awkward thing to try and do herself. She feels the beginnings of second thoughts creeping into her mind, but quickly buries them, because what kind of an ass would she be if she pulled out now? She can see in their eyes and tiny smiles how much this means to them. For one of the first times in her life, she feels like she's being a halfway decent human being, and it's a slightly wonderful sensation.

"So, what, I'll just call you up next time my ovaries spit out a little goldmine of DNA, and we go from there?"

The boys have another tiny silent conversation before turning back to her with stupidly wide smiles, and nodding. She wants to make some sort of joke about their puppy dog eyes - especially Blaine's, because, just, really? - but Britt's hand is on her knee and Kurt's nose is crinkled up in happiness and Blaine is giving her one of his looks that says she's the best friend ever, and she sort of believes it for the first time. She feels really, really warm and fuzzy and tingly in ways she doesn't plan on analysing. She's not gonna suddenly join a charity and take a vow of abstinence and devote her life to helping others, but right now, she feels pretty darn good.

She takes a cookie from Britt, and uncrosses her legs. Nobody but her even knows that it's metaphorical.


End file.
